


The Things That Once Made Us.

by Inkpools



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 8th year, A gay trans man writes the fic he always wanted to see, Anyway trans aus are very important to me, Draco Malfoy - Freeform, Drarry, Harry Potter - Freeform, Harry Potter AU, Harry Potter Trans Au, Jk Rowling suck a fart challenge, Multi, Trans AU, Trans Draco Malfoy, Trans Harry Potter, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27099262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkpools/pseuds/Inkpools
Summary: An eighth year fic in which the returning students share a dormitory in a new expansion tower that was built over the summer holidays. When Harry and Draco are paired together, everyone expects disaster. With both of them burying secrets and with their guilt running deep, how long will it take before they’re at each others throats? And will things turn out to be as bad as everyone expects?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 23
Kudos: 50





	1. The Boy Who Lived (Because He Had To)

**Author's Note:**

> Hey so this is a fic that I’ve been meaning to write for a while! Both Harry and Draco in this are trans and this is HIGHLY self indulgent, but I hope others can get some joy from it as well.
> 
> Some bases to cover though: this fic is a genuine labour of love for a ship I’ve carried with me since i was too young to know who i was. I don’t support Jk Rowling’s views or ideas in any capacity, and the things she’s stated as of late are blatantly transmisogynistic. Its also important to remember that anti-Semitic caricatures run RAMPANT in this series, and the way it handles slavery is garbage. 
> 
> With that in mind, for all of you sexy bitches with Drarry brain worms much like myself - this one is for u. Enjoy and thank you for reading!

It was the end of August, and summer was coming to an end. Autumn had been chasing it’s heels all month, and Harry, for once, was unsure about the September to follow.

Harry had been on his own this summer, fixing up Grimmauld place. It was safe again now, as all of the death eaters had been rounded up and carted off to Azkaban. He knew the Blacks would have hated that he was the one to have inherited it, and part of that is what fuelled his enthusiasm for remodelling it. Kreacher, as always, roamed the halls, cursing his _‘defilement of the beloved family_ home’ repeatedly. It was almost comforting, in way, to have him rambling like white noise in the background, while truly saying nothing foul at all. Walburga’s portrait however, remained covered as ever. Harry had been kind enough to change the curtain on it though, as the old one was dusty and worn.

The curtain wasn’t the only thing to go though. A majority of the weirder, more wizardy things he’d handed over to Arthur, as he knew he’d have a field day with them. Overall, he’d made such a dent in the house during this time that it was hard to recognise it in comparison to what it once was.

He hadn’t seen much of Ron or Hermione, as they too had been fixing their lives after the past year. Hermione tracked down her parents to give them back their memories, and Ron… well. Ron had been helping his family in their recovery. Losing Fred had been tough on them, and when he had been around them, he could still spot George look over his shoulder for his missing other half, only to be reminded, crestfallen, that he was no longer there anymore.

Harry remembered the days he would count down until the summer break ended, the years of abuse hurled at him by the Dursley’s, and his once famous attraction to adventure.

But this summer would pass, and the world would return to normal. There were people who wouldn’t even know how many wizards and witches died during the battle. He knew wholeheartedly, that he wouldn’t be able to set foot in the astronomy tower ever again. He’d made peace with it.

He’d have to, to return to Hogwarts this year.

He wasn’t doing it for himself, though. Hermione, in one of their few meetups this summer, had pleaded with Harry and Ron to do the final year with her. For old times’ sake, and a year that wouldn’t be filled with monsters and danger in every corner. He couldn’t turn her down when he saw the look in her eyes, one almost of grief.

The pitch Mcgonagall gave him was that it would complete his studies, and he could say a proper goodbye to the teachers and school that he had called home for years. And of course, there was always the quidditch tournament. One final hurrah.

However, they wanted to run an experiment this year. On the returning class, they were instead going to house the lot of them together, indiscriminate of house, and with randomised dorm mates. It was being done to try and relieve some of the tension between past students, and to promote _healing_ and _togetherness._ As far as Harry was concerned, it was a disaster waiting to happen.

He finished the dinner that had gone cold beneath him while he at lost in thought, and sat halfheartedly onto the sofa in the living room, legs dangling over the edge, and head flat against the seat. He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling how long it had gotten.

It easily reached his shoulders at this point. He remembered how when he was younger, Petunia used to try punish him by shaving his head. She thought it would matter then, but that was before she knew Harry preferred to be referred to as a boy.

Harry chose a boring name, for his new name. He was aware of this. But it fit him. It made him happy. That was all that mattered. As much as he loved his parents, the one they chose just didn’t quite fit. He knew flower names ran in the family… but it wasn’t right.

He hoped whoever he’d room with would be as understanding as the other boys had been in Gryffindor. They’d never made him feel out of place, not once. And he had to admit. Back in fifth year, when the stairs to the girls dormitories had collapsed beneath his feet, the sense of relief he felt was astounding. He hadn’t told Ron, but later, when everyone was in classes, and after one of his many personal detentions with Umbridge, he tried the stairs again. They slid from underneath him, again, and with the wailing siren Harry felt not alarm, but relief.

If even the building could decipher that he wasn’t a girl, nobody else could argue that, right?

But times had changed since then, and things were going to be different now. He could only hope it would sill work out alright. Being trans was the one secret he had managed to keep from the wizarding world, and he intended to keep it for as long as possible. He hoped whoever was in the dorms this time would respect that too.

He laid there, staring at the ceiling a moment longer, before squeezing his eyes closed as tight as he could, rubbing at the eyelids until clouds burst behind his eyes. When he opened them, he sighed, and pushed himself back upright.

He headed back to his room, freshly refurbished. And with his things _everywhere._ He’d taken great comfort in properly having his own space, instead of one that was handed to him on the basis of threats. Even if the room had been bigger, it had been just as stifling, and arguably, he’d had more freedom in his cupboard.

There were days when he thought back to the time he spent at the Dursley’s, and those days were often bad ones.

He understood that maybe it had to be done, that he had to stick with his mothers kin to survive and be hidden. But he still wished that he could have spent a week at most in the house every year, instead of seventeen years of abuse.

It was enough to make his skin crawl, and he knew it was having long term effects on his memories. There were times where he’d try to remember his prior school years, and his mind would come back empty-handed, like a parasite was eating his past away right before his eyes. He’d made peace with it.

He’d have to, in order to keep himself from falling apart.

He started packing his trunk. First in were his clothes. He knew he’d spend a majority of his time there in his robes, but also having options was important for obvious reasons. After that, came his scrolls and writing supplies. He kept his stationery in a pencil case, stuffed with quills and ballpoint pens alike. Next was the new broomstick, a fire bolt, like his old one. It wasn’t the latest model, no, But his first one was given to him by Sirius. And that was reason enough to replace it in his friend’s eyes. They had banded together to afford it for his birthday. The thought meant much more than they knew.

After his broom, he threw in his toiletries, his robes, and then he was pretty much done.

All that was left to do was wait until tomorrow. The first of September.

It would be his first year at Hogwarts without Hedwig. It was stupid, but it broke him up a lot that she wouldn’t be there with him. It felt wrong to replace her, his first animal companion. She too, was a gift. But this one… nobody could replace her.

It was his first year without a lot of people. He wouldn’t be able to send letters to Remus or Tonks anymore, or be harassed down the halls by Colin Creevey and his little brother. No Snape around every corner enacting revenge for his father’s misgivings either. Even Crabbe would no longer stalk down hogwarts’ halls.

It was his fault at the end of the day, though. Harry believed it wholeheartedly, as the feeling as weighed down his gut for the last few months. He blamed himself constantly. If only he had have been the saviour they all expected him to be. If only he old have struck down Voldemort at the beginning of all this. If only.

There are nights where Cedric’s death _specifically_ haunts him just that little bit more than everyone else.

If only. If only. _If only_. The words ran like a damning chorus through his mind every night.

But how do you discuss those things with your best friends, when all they said was that you’d done the best you could? Like…. Yes. But also it wasn’t enough to pacify the guilt that had him bedridden for days at a time.

So he buried himself in more mundane thoughts. He read the tip in a self help book in a muggle library, not long ago. “Distract yourself from dangerous thoughts by focussing on projects or the smaller things!”

He’d taken the advice like gospel. Hence the house restoration. But oftentimes, it wasn’t enough, and nights would be spent with eyes wide open, contemplating every little thing he could have done better. Every other path he could have taken. He knew no other plan would have worked. Nothing else could have been done.

So he buried himself. In housework, in arts, in reading. God, Harry had read more this summer than he ever had in his life. He’d written _poetry_ for Christ’s sake. He was trying to cope with everything the best he could. But with no one to confide in, there was only so much he could accomplish.

Maybe Hermione was right. Maybe Hogwarts wouldn’t be so bad after all. Maybe it would be his biggest distraction yet. Maybe this was what he had been hoping for. He chose to believe that it was.

He climbed the stairs up to the room he had been living in; Sirius’ old one. He flopped down onto his bed, before crawling under the covers, eyelids falling heavily as soon as comfort embraced him.

Yes, he chose to believe it. He’d have to, in order to make it through this damn school year.


	2. Reunited Once Again

Kings cross station was as busy as it always was.

The day had come, and Harry had woken up extra early to make sure he made it on time. The trolley containing his trunk wasn’t as heavy as always, but then again – he didn’t have as much to carry. As he ran towards Platform 9 and ¾, and the scenery shifted around him, he was met with the sight of a large, bustling crowd. The Hogwarts Express was idling, with it’s thick cloud of smoke billowing towards the sky and scarlet outsides making it feel the same as it always had. Kids in their first and final years alike boarded it, waving smiling to their parents, or other family who had come to give them their send offs.

It was in this crowd and commotion that he tried to find Ron and Hermione. It had been almost a month since he saw them last, and the nostalgia of being on the platform made him miss them ten times more. He couldn’t quite tell where they were in the crowd, having never been the tallest person in the group, when he caught of glimpse of fluffy, brunette hair running wild as ever. He powered towards it, head down to avoid any attention, when he heard it.

“Oh it’s him! Its Harry!”

The excitement started to bubble around the platform, and heads turned and the crowd grew louder, everyone trying to clamber over themselves to get a glimpse of him.

The thing about Harry’s summer, is that he spent hardly any of it in the wizarding world.

He made the trips he needed to, like going to Diagon Alley for books and supplies, but other than that he had remained suspiciously absent. It was a common subject in the daily prophet; where he had gone to, what he was doing, and if he’d ever return. Rumours had flung that he had abandoned the wizarding world to live in the mountains as a muggle, that he had taken up a foreign lover and moved countries without telling anyone. He’d even heard from Hermione that there were people who believed he had killed himself.

“Harry! Look this way!”

“Oh please would you get a photo with me?”

“THE Harry Potter! Oh man can you sign my broom for me?”

But alas, he had not, and his summer of peace was finally marked as over. He hurried through the crowd, throwing awkward smiles and pathetic glances at passerbys and redirected his course to the train itself. Surely they would have heard that he arrived. Surely they would find him.

Five metres could not have felt more like a mountain climb. As soon as he got onto the train, he collapsed into the first empty compartment he saw. He practically flung himself onto the seat, and finally mopped up the cold sweat that had broken out on his forehead with his sleeve.

“Overwhelmed, Potter?”

The comment had come from the doorway, where a familiar lanky blonde stood. His hair had grown too, slicked back in a neat half-up style. His cold grey eyes were only accentuated by the deep bags that hung just below them, and his skin seemed almost paler than usual. A bandage wrapped around his left arm, right where the dark mark he used to brandish so proudly used to sit. Harry wondered if it was still there – if Malfoy’s mark hadn’t faded into a scar like everyone else’s. Or if it was just that he was ashamed of who he used to be.

“Quite. It’s been a while since I set foot anywhere near the public.” He responded flatly, looking out the window, eyes scanning or any sign of his best friends. “I wish I’d found Ron and ‘Mione before they spotted me though.”

The other boy scoffed, before resting his head against the doorway, looking at Harry quizzically. “Thought you liked the fame, didn’t you?”

“Oh you know I never really did.”

“Could have fooled me.” He chuckled, looking out the window. “I sent Goyle to tell them your compartment number. Hopefully he remembers it.”

“Yeah well – what?” Harry ripped his eyes away from the window to finally meet Malfoy’s gaze, and realised a moment too late, after the other’s eyes rolled, that he’d poorly hidden the depth his confusion.

“Yes, you heard me correctly. I’m _helping_ you, Potter.”

A loud thud, and rowdy chattering found its way up the corridor, as familiar voices travelled towards them.

“Well, I’ll be off. See you round.” A grin, and then he was gone.

As soon as he left Harry had no time to wipe away the expression on his face before Hermione and Ron barrelled into the room, closing and locking the door behind them. They both looked appropriately frazzled and manhandled, with Hermione’s hair seeming to stand on end in shock. A familiar sight in Crookshanks and Pigwidgeon, made him smile, before welcoming the big orange cat onto his lap.

“So”- All three of them\ started at once, burst into laughter, and tried again.

Hermione started; “Goyle sent us-” 

“Who was sent by Malfoy.” Finished Ron, looking at Harry incredulously.

“Yeah, he was just here.” Harry shrugged, motioning to the door. “Wasn’t being a git, so I thought I’d let him speak. God does he look like shit, though.”

He thought about the bags beneath his eyes, how he’d seemed paler than before. The bandage wrapped around his left arm and how his cold grey eyes lacked the rage that’d made itself home in them before. He hadn’t noticed it when Malfoy was right in front of him, but thinking back? Yeah. Malfoy looked like shit.

“Yeah? I’m honestly just shocked that the bastard was being nice at all.” Ron quipped, reaching over to give Crookshanks a scratch between the ears.

“I wouldn’t trust him, personally.” Hermione added, hands protectively over her own arm. Events from last year made their way through his mind like bullets, including when he saw the word carved into her arm the first time. He looked at Ron, with the scars from the brain tentacles wrapped around his arms too.

They’d been through so much, the three of them. He reached out to Hermione with his right hand, the one that had _I must not tell lies_ carved into it like a promise.

“I wouldn’t ever, Hermione, not after everything.”

They spoke for hours, catching each other up on the last parts of their summers. Ron had taken to working part time at Weasley’s Wizard wheezes, to replace the gap left by his brother’s passing. Hermione had finally convinced Mcgonagall that it would be best to create an entirely magically automated Hogwarts, and to relocate the house elves to places where they would actually flourish. A few refused to leave, but they were sparse amongst the mass exodus of the others.

Harry didn’t have much to tell them himself, given that he hadn’t done a whole lot since he saw them last.

“So. You know how I’ve said I’m totally fine, and nether of you should worry about me?” He started, before Hermione cut him off.

“You’re very much not. And I could tell you that.”

‘Yes - well. I’ve been reading self help books, and honestly I don’t think they’re working out for me.”

“Self help books? What’s that?” Ron stuffed his face with a pumpkin pasty before going any further. “As if you don’t know how to help yourself, mate.”

“Well I mean-“

“They’re books that are meant to guide people on how to deal with thoughts and emotions Ron. Don’t be so insensitive.” Hermione admonished him, hitting him softly on the shoulder. “And what do you mean? What exactly are you having trouble with?”

“It’s mostly the fact that they all recommend seeing a therapist if you have issues that aren’t alleviated by the methods they give. And that’s great and all – but what therapist isn’t going to look at me like a maniac if I walk in and talk about how being the saviour of the wizarding world is weighing me down? They’ll sooner ship me off to the looney bin.”

“Harry...”

“Sorry. Mental hospital.”

“Better.”

“Yes. Ok. Anyway – the point I was originally going to make was that I’m worried for this year. Being in a dorm with the students from other houses… they’re gonna _know,_ you know? It’s bad enough to think that half of the bloody Gryffindor house knows. Imagine the whole senior cohort-”

“Oh wait, they don’t know you’re trans, hey?” Ron interrupted, lightly concerned. “Huh. I hadn’t even thought of that. Shit, Hermione did you think of that?” To which Hermione stopped. She hadn’t.

“Not only that, but the fact that the dorm is mixed house is going to be enough to cause a light disaster in the first couple of months. Let alone the fact that we won’t even be with the same people we’ve shared dorms with for literally all of our high school lives. We’re going to have to room with new people – and what’s _worse_ is the potential one of us might be rooming with –“

“Harry stop.” Hermione cut in, hands resting on Harry’s shoulders. “This is our one chance to have an actual school year. One that isn’t controlled and affected by antagonising potions teachers, by the ministry, by the Tri-Wizard Tournament.. or stupid fucking Voldemort. It’ll be ok. I promise.”

Harry didn’t care to move her hands from his shoulders, but he didn’t answer her either. He stared out the window, where they were starting to come up to the castle. The lake sat still, sun barely peeking out from above it.

In the time they’d spent catching up – they’d already reached the castle. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to face what awaited. Every part of him wanted to run as the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. To where – he didn’t know. It would be as easy as grabbing his fire bolt and taking off. Higher and higher and further and further. Maybe he could take after Sirius and just _disappear._ Never to be seen again.

But it was too late for that now. The reproachful look that Hermione was giving him, the sight of Ron, who was also reluctant to be there, sticking by his side. He only decided to go when Harry had said yes – he had to remind himself of that. If he was there for Hermione, Ron was here for _him_.

As the train came to a halt, and the familiar whistle of the train blew, Harry stood up, mustering up every ounce of courage he had.

It was time to face the school again, for the first time since the war ended.


End file.
